


Making Monsters

by photonromance



Category: Silent Hill
Genre: Falling In Love, Hate Crimes, M/M, Monster Transformation, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other, POV First Person, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3213275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/photonromance/pseuds/photonromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valtiel tells us a story. The story of how he and his once human lover became the stuff of nightmares. Two young boys in love in a town ruled by a cruel god. Their destiny decided by the very people who would see them slain. The people who would know their torment tenfold once their queen was free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted to my account on FFN, it's a piece I've always had a fondness for so I brought it here with me.

He was the only black haired boy in the entire town. His mother was a beautiful blonde woman. And not in an artificial way. She was beautiful and kind and a widow. Raising her raven haired boy alone.

Her husband had died not long after his son was born, in a mining accident. They had just moved to town. Strangely, no one seemed to have a photograph of him. Or remember him very clearly. But most everyone agreed, he had been a brown haired fellow. So that left the origins of the town's only raven in doubt. No one dared ask the beautiful woman herself. But no one would put the rumors to rest.

I had known him from his first moment in our town. As his next door neighbor it was my sworn duty to welcome him. We had both been seven years old at the time. He wasn't shy, exactly. Just quiet. Intelligent, but with little to say to a town full of people who were so suspicious of him.

His mother was the kindest woman, making us the most delicious cookies and calling us her boys. My father was a deeply religious man, and worked every evening in the church, and he had no father, so building our shared dream of a tree house was up to the two of us. Together we created what turned into a safe haven for us in the big oak tree in his backyard. Just a wooden box up high, nestled in strong branches, obscuring us from view. But it was home to us. Where we could sit and talk and not worry about my ridged parents hearing us, or his mother worrying over him. It was there that I learned that I loved him.

It was a fall day, our junior year in Midwich High. And he was talking about some girl that had been vying for his attention for a while now. He mentioned in passing that she was fairly pretty and he might want to have a go with her.

Inexplicably, a surge of jealousy shot through me. Him? With a girl? No way. I told him as much. He merely raised an arching eyebrow and asked who then, should he be considering? Jason? That nerd from English I was always eying? Before what he said had completely registered, I responded that maybe I would like to have a go with him. Our sentences colliding, I blushed darkly and he chuckled.

In one liquid move, he shifted from sitting Indian style, onto his knees and crawled across the small tree house's floor. As he came closer, I backed away, nervous and frightened. Finally I could go no further, my back to the tree house wall. And he came closer, this tip of his nose pressed to mine, his hands planted on either side of my hips. He asked, very quietly, if I ment what I had said. If I really would like to have a go with him. And I blushed again, heat rushing though my body. I nodded silently before whispering, "Yes." And he kissed me. Right there in that tree house. And in moments I was kissing him back, hands already eager to touch and feel and stroke. We lay down on the floor of the tree house and made out for hours yet.

For months, we did nothing more than kiss and touch and coddle. The night he asked me to be his, in all seriousness, was the night we consummated our bond. Again, the old tree house was our sole and silent witness. Night fell and from the ground, no sound could be heard. But inside that sturdy house, we moaned and panted and cried out softly together.

It was the first time for both of us. But I knew I could never feel the way I did in his arms with anybody else. Nothing matched the silk of his lips, the velvet touch of his hair drifting across my naked belly as he kissed his way up to my mouth. After that night, we never looked at each other the same again. There was always a gentler glow in his eyes when they met mine. And I caught him watching me in ways he never had before. After that first night, I think he mother knew. She always smiled at me, but after that night, she did so a little more warmly. Like she knew I made him happy. And it made me happy to know that.

But just because his mother knew and understood, it didn't mean my parents could, or would. I never told them, of course. But somehow, they seemed to know. My father looked at me coldly and my mother became steadily more distant. But I never mattered. I had him and he had me. And often.

The boy was insatiable. The instant he was certain we were alone; he was on me, ravaging my mouth. I could only hold his shoulders and pray to God we weren't caught. We had sex regularly. Not that we met specifically for such occasions, but I had spent many, many an evening lying against him, curled up in his powerful arms. Eventually, we grew up and out of the tree house and we got an apartment of our own.

That's when the trouble began.

We were both turning eighteen that summer. Only ten days apart. Time to move out, move on. I wasn't sure if I could ever leave the small town life. And I don't think he was either, despite his big talk. But we both moved out of our childhood homes and got an apartment together.

Then the rumors started.

Our little town was one deeply rooted in religion. And it seemed that his mother was the only one in the town to put our happiness first. We had never exactly announced it to the world that we were together, but hadn't exactly hidden it either. So the first rock through our living room window with 'faggots' written on it, he was ready to leave. He pleaded with me, in a way I had never thought he could. He was always the strong one. And yet, he was on his knees on the living room floor, pleading with me to leave with him. "It's not safe," he begged, "You know how seriously these people take their God around here. We will never have peace here. Never be truly happy." I understood.

We planned to leave the next morning.

We never made it that far.

That night, at almost exactly midnight, our bedroom door was kicked down. We had been curled up together, for both comfort and warmth, when the sheets were ripped from our bed and we were dragged from it and into darkness.

The next time I awoke, we were being dragged into a stone room, pillars along the walls and a great stone circle in the center. They wore black robes and carried torches. We were cast down in the center of their circle, and bathed in fiery light as they passed judgment. Guilty, cried the voices I had always know to be so familiar. The judge, the banker, the principal, the teachers I had trusted, my own parents. They damned us together. And I clung to him, and he clung to me. And we held each other as they chanted and sang and called upon their God to deliver us to Hell.

And suddenly, it stopped. We were in the center of a frozen ring of black clad fools singing to a dead God. A young girl stepped forward from the crowd around us, just a child, her raven black hair, so like my lover's, was long and draped around her pale face. Her eyes were red, as if from crying, and haunted. You've committed no sin, she said kindly, kneeling to touch our faces. They're the ones that deserve to be punished. Come with me, learn to use your strengths, and you can be together in a world free from their hate. Looking at each other silently for a moment, we both turned to the girl and agreed. The little girl knelt before us and kissed us each on the forehead daintily, as a child might kiss. And she smiled, and faded like the delusion she must have been as the world around us seemed to speed up again, like a tape coming unpaused. He screamed, "That little brat!" She'd lifted our hopes and left us! I remember crying. Remember clinging to him and crying until they took us apart.

I spent days in a box, chained to the wall. My unloving parents had decided that they must cure me of my love for another man so that I might yet be saved from the depths of Hell. But they could not break me. Whippings, starvation, rape, abuse, nothing could break me.

I lost all track of time, in that darkness. My only way of marking time was by the beatings. It was after the twentieth beating and the thirteenth whipping; they took me from my cell to another place.

In that room, I found my love chained to a table, naked. His beautiful body was striped with whiplashes, much as mine was, but seemed no weaker for starving. Watch, the Order Master said to me, come back to us or suffer his fate. In horror, I watched. Four men carried each a half of a great metal pyramid. The metal box latched somewhere I couldn't see and was full of wicked looking metal spikes.

Each side was interlocking.

No shred would remain unpierced.

I screamed like an animal and my lover thrashed in his bonds. But they held fast. And I was forced to watch my lover's face disappeared between two metal halves. My last sight of him was his tear filled black eyes and those bloodstained lips mouthing, 'I love you'.

He should have been dead. He shouldn't have kept fighting those chains, even after the Pyramid was locked. And the Order Members were frightened. I was dragged away, incompetent with tears. Fifteen whippings passed. I was raped three times. Beaten senseless again and again. Wounds were left to fester and open again with every lashing. And still I cried his name. I cried out to him. Sometimes, if the darkness was quiet enough, I could hear him roaring from across the compound. He killed at least an Order Member a week. I still loved him. I ached to hear him in such agony.

The order members became less and less. I was only whipped every other beating. And every third… fourth… and soon, both stopped. I was left in my cell for a long time after the final round of lashings. I heard only screams of agony, strange noises and the grinding of metal on metal. On that last day after the end of my torment, my cell door screamed open and a monster stood before me.

My lover had become a monster. A great, tall creature, bloodstained body and apron, huge, rusting pyramid resting heavily on his shoulders. And yet, I struggled to lift myself, crying out, reaching toward him. But I was too weak. My thin body betraying me, dropping me to the floor.

He carried me. I was in those powerful arms again. I was safe.

I didn't remember getting to the room. Didn't remember the girl joining us. The little girl that had promised our freedom. In a daze, I saw her standing beside me, felt her touch my face, heard her promise I would be with my lover forever.

When I woke up, I was different. I could see. But I felt no eyes, no nose, no mouth. My face was gone. Yet I could see and hear and smell. I felt taller, my arms elongated, my fingers seemed gently stretched. I wore a ragged robe, much like my lover's. And when he came in to the room, I was with him again.

Together, we ventured out into the much altered town. I was weak from my apparent transformation and he allowed me to put my arms around his shoulders and travel with him on his back. He dragged a Great Knife beside him, killing any monster that threatened me. And I nuzzled the rusting metal of his Pyramid, holding tight to his body, once so familiar to me.

This body was strange, but I seemed to know it too. I knew the little places that ran a ripple through him, knew how to rock myself against him in ways I knew he liked. He was still my lover. My beloved.

And that night, if you could call it such, we laid together in our old bed in our old, rotten apartment. I curled close to his massive frame, and he wrapped his powerful arms around me. Then, and only then, was I home again. He nuzzled his great Pyramid to my head, and I nuzzled him back. We were together. And this time, forever. And no one, not the Order, not anyone God, could ever tear us apart.


End file.
